


check in tomorrow

by hellabaloo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Episode 40 Coda, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellabaloo/pseuds/hellabaloo
Summary: After finally being released—from police questioning, from Jon's debriefing—Martin still didn't feel like going home. Luckily for him, neither did Tim.





	check in tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arazsya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arazsya/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!

 

 

.

 

Martin let the door to the Institute swing shut with a dull thud. It was still light out despite the late hour, with that gentle, rosy-colored twilight that settled over London in the summer that normally Martin loved, but seemed inappropriate in the aftermath of the day—dealing with Jane Prentiss had been bad enough, but he doubted he’d ever forget the sight of Gertrude’s body as much as he wished otherwise.

He shivered despite the lingering warmth of the day and was grateful not to be walking home for the first time in months in the dark. Elias had been straight-forward about what they had done with Jane Prentiss’ body, his smooth baritone and ready answers making the gruesome details seem mundane, but it was still a comfort.

Martin didn’t notice Tim sitting on the lowest of the Institute’s marble steps until he almost toppled over him. 

“Tim! You’re still here. I thought Jon sent you home.”

“He did,” Tim said, not bothering turning his head, picking at the edge of the bandage covering his arm.

They descended into silence and Martin fiddled with his bag for a moment before asking the obvious question. “But you haven’t left yet?”

“Nope,” Tim said, his lips catching on the last syllable. 

“Ah.”

There wasn’t really anything left to say. It had been a weird day, weirder than normal working at the Magnus Institute. Martin was used to these sorts of dismissive conversations with Jon, but he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed with Tim. 

“I really wished I smoked at a time like this,” Tim said, breaking the silence suddenly. Martin blinked, surprised, his mouth halfway open and about to say something stupid and banal. There was a wry twist to Tim’s mouth that gave him a mean look that Martin didn’t like very much at all. 

“I thought the doctors said you and Jon needed fresh air to combat the—” Martin said, gaining momentum for a full-on ramble, but he stopped when Tim twisted around and shot him a look before turning back again. 

Martin took a steadying breath. “I know where Jon stashes the pack of cigarettes he pretends he doesn’t have. If you want one,” he said.

Tim threw his head back and laughed, like Martin had just said something legitimately funny instead of offering to pilfer their boss’ secret stash of smokes. Martin didn’t know what Tim found so amusing but found himself smiling along with him anyway.

“Nah,” Tim said, shaking his head, that mean look replaced by a smile that suited him much better. “But. But thanks.”

“Well I guess—” 

“Do you want to go for a drink?” Tim interrupted before Martin could finish his thought and he was left with his mouth hanging open for a moment before he snapped it shut. Tim was still looking at the traffic. 

Martin hadn’t been excited at the thought of returning to his flat—he’d have to undo the worm-proofing he’d done and do a shop and probably wipe everything down with bleach to satisfy his overactive imagination—but he had been looking forward to sleeping on a real bed and not a cot. Still turning these thoughts over in his head, he realized with a jolt that Tim was still talking to him. 

“...don’t really want to go home and stare at a wall. And, well. You know?”

“I, uh,” Marin said, trying to catch hold of the conversation.

“Just with you living in the Archives since Prentiss came to your flat, I didn’t think you’d want to go back to yours’ either.”

The way Tim said it, with an offhanded shrug, made it seem like a logical conclusion—a normal one too—but there was a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t usually there and Martin wondered if he asking for Martin’s benefit or his own. And when Martin weighed going for a drink against going back to his flat, it wasn’t much of a contest. 

“No, you’re right. I don’t,” Martin admitted. “Although, should you really be drinking? I thought they gave you painkillers for the—”

Tim snorted. “I don’t frankly care.”

“Right. A pint sounds like just the right thing.”

“What, not a cup of tea?” Tim said with a teasing smile, standing up and dusting off his trousers. Martin felt his cheeks flush and had to cough away the hysterical laughter he could feel bubbling up in his throat. The sudden return of normal interactions after the day they’d had was a little jarring.

“Shut up, Tim,” Martin said, shouldering past him down the steps. He refused to turn to check if Tim was following and smiled to himself when he felt Tim’s solid presence at his shoulder.

 

.

 

“I didn’t!” Tim groaned and buried his face in his hands. Martin laughed at his reaction and enjoyed the tinge of pink staining Tim’s cheeks he could see peeking through his fingers.

“You did! Took off your shirt and would have kept on if Jon hadn’t stopped you. You wanted to prove none of the worms had gotten you.”

They had still ended up in Stockwell despite everything because Tim let Martin decide where they were going, and he couldn’t think of any place other than his local; he certainly couldn’t think of something like the trendy, hip bars Martin had always envisioned Tim going to. But Tim didn’t seem put out and even looked quite at home in the slightly dingy pub. And the chairs really were the most comfortable Martin had ever found. On their third round, the world had taken on a much friendlier glow than before.

Knocking back the last of his drink, Martin savoured his buzz and slouched, loose-limbed, that bit further into his seat. He realized hadn’t felt this relaxed in months—since before Prentiss, hell, probably since he transferred to the Archives. But Tim’s presence didn’t hurt; he was a charismatic guy, and they’d never spent time like this. Joking and being friendly outside the confines of the Archives. He didn’t want it to end, which is of course when he realized just how long they’d been holed up at their corner table.

With regret, but not wanting to impose, Martin stood and mumbled something about settling his tab. He didn’t wait for Tim to acknowledge him, but he did feel a solid presence at his back as he stood at the bar and glancing back caught Tim’s eye. He smiled at Martin, who immediately turned back around and suddenly felt unsteady. He hoped the flush he felt on his cheeks was alcohol-induced rather than something else. 

After they settled their tabs, they stood outside enjoying the cooling night air compared to the muggy heat inside. The longer they stood there, the more awkward the silence became until Martin couldn’t stand it anymore and blurted, “Well. I guess I should go.” 

For a moment, Tim looked at him blankly and Martin had to fight the urge to fidget. Tim sighed and turned his head to face the street. “Right.”

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” Tim said lazily, but his tone belied the sudden stiffness in his shoulders. Something about the difference between the easy camaraderie between them in the pub and this sudden tension made a swell of inexplicable sadness well up in Martin. 

“I’m just,” Martin said, reaching out a tentative hand but stopped short and balled it into a fist. He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m happy you’re alive, Tim. I told the tape recorder, but I wanted to tell you too.”

Martin watched something flicker across Tim’s face before he looked down at his shoes. Martin knew he should probably stop, but he’d never been good at leaving things alone when he finally got up the nerve to say something. 

“When I first saw you go back into Jon’s office, I. I thought you were dead. And— _worm_ food and I...”

“Yeah, well, thanks for stockpiling those CO2 canisters,” Tim said looking back up with what was probably meant to be a sardonic smile but just looked _sad_ to Martin’s eyes. “Otherwise I would be,” he added quietly, an intense look in his eyes.

“Oh.” Martin felt heat rising in his cheeks that had little to do with the alcohol left in his system and it was his turn to look away.

“No, really, Martin. Thanks.”

Martin was still avoiding looking at Tim and didn’t see him move before he was suddenly enveloped in a hug. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, but when Tim didn’t move away just as quickly as he’d moved in, Martin brought his arms up and returned the hug. They stood there in silence, basking in the offered comfort. Tim was warm and Martin couldn’t help leaning into him in the rapidly cooling night air.

Reluctant to pull away, Martin moved his arms slowly from around Tim’s shoulders. With a sigh, Tim did the same. For a beat, he looked at Martin with an intensely focused gaze before leaning in and pressing his lips to Martin’s. 

The kiss was dry and chaste and nothing like he imagined kissing Tim might be like. But Tim’s hand snaked around to his lower back and pulled Martin towards him with the faintest of pressures and Martin, embarrassingly, felt his knees going weak. 

Pulling back, Tim’s eyes darted around Martin’s face, worry and anticipation clearly etched on his own.

“Oh,” Martin said stupidly, hating it even as he said it. Really, his attractive colleague kisses him and all he can manage to say is ‘Oh’?

“I just,” Tim said, flustered. “If you want to pretend this didn’t happen—”

“No!” Martin said more loudly than he’d intended to and grabbed the sides of Tim’s face and pulling him in for another kiss.

Martin could feel Tim’s smile against his lips and he couldn’t help but laugh softly. Suddenly, Tim pushed Martin into the wall of the pub and deepened the kiss. Martin could taste the remnants of the creamy stout Tim drank on his tongue.

Tim pulled away again, this time a much more smug smile in place. “How close if your flat?”

Martin blinked. “I haven’t been there in months. It’s going to be so dusty and—”

“Martin,” Tim said flatly, 

“Right,” Martin said blushing and grabbed Tim’s hand. “Right, come on.”

He looked back as he dragged Tim in the direction of his flat and caught the edge of a smile on Tim’s face.

 

.

 

Martin woke up and stretched, feeling deliciously sore in all the right places. He slipped out of bed with a glance at Tim who was still sleeping, face planted in a pillow.

He grabbed an old jumper and pulled it on as he shuffled to the kitchen, yawning. Martin moved mechanically through the motions of pulling down his favorite mug and preparing tea. He absent-mindedly raised one foot to scratch at his calf and shivered, feeling cold in his pants and tatty jumper. Martin could feel the grime that had built up on his floors in his absence and made a mental note about cleaning them later. He took a sip of tea and sighed, content.

“Morning.”

Martin turned to face Tim, who was just emerging from the bedroom, and tried not to be too obvious in his ogling. Even with bandages covering his arms, Tim was undeniably attractive.

“Morning.”

He shuffled his feet and looked down, feeling suddenly awkward. The silence stretched on, neither he nor Tim seemingly willing to be the first to speak. Martin kept trying to find a casual way to ask Tim to stay for breakfast, but none of them sounded cool and effortless in his head.

“Is that a worm?” Tim asked and the effect was instantaneous: Martin jumped, dropping his mug and grasping for the nearest thing to use as a weapon—he ended up brandishing a spoon.

“What! Where?” Martin shouted and looked over at Tim in alarm, who was doubled over in laughter. Realizing there was no worm, Martin felt the adrenaline drain from his limbs, leaving him feeling simultaneously drained and twitchy.

“Don’t joke about that!”

“Come on, it was funny. You should see your face.”

Martin rolled his eyes and muttered, “No, it wasn’t,” as he bent down to clean the broken bits of porcelain. Tim came over to help and Martin had to suppress the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

Maybe it would be funny later. Maybe. When they weren’t twelve hours removed from facing death by some parasite-infested _thing_.

They stood up in unison and smiled as they almost bumped into each other as they threw the collected shards of broken pottery away, the earlier awkward silence forgotten.

“Do you want stay for breakfast?” Martin asked all in a rush and felt himself start to blush before the words are even fully out of his mouth—and then of course he couldn’t stop them. “Or, well, we could go out for breakfast, because I don’t think I have anything left in my cupboards that I’d want to eat anymore.”

He wasn’t looking at Tim as he babbled, putting away his tea things instead, and it was a surprise when he saw Tim’s bare feet come into his field of vision. Martin took a breath and chanced a look, only intending to get a sense of how Tim might be reacting to his sudden proposal, but was entranced by the small smile threatening to grow beyond the corner of Tim’s mouth and Martin couldn’t look away.

“I’d like that,” Tim said and Martin smiled in response.

 

.

 

 


End file.
